


The Queen's Toaster

by solarbird



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Art, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, Fluff, I have no idea where this is going, I'm not even sure it's going anywhere, Lesbian Character of Color, Polyamorous Character, Post-Talon, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Welcome to Rarepair Festival, You Have Been Warned, additional relationships to be added - Freeform, art thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:17:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: Amélie Lacroix used to be the Widowmaker. She's not, anymore. Talon is gone, and the threat is over. But few if any governments are really willing to forgive a known terrorist with dozens - no, hundreds - of kills under her belt, so coming in from the cold wasn't really an option.But one has to make a living somehow. A lot of the same skills used to infiltrate for assassination work just as well for other kinds of infiltration, and Amélie always did have an eye for spotting value in art.





	1. The Nuremberg Partridge Cup

"I wouldn't touch that, luv. In fact... I just wouldn't move at all."

Amélie Lacroix froze in place at the woman's voice, quiet, yet so loud in contrast to the absolute silence of the rest of the museum. _Merde_ , she thought, eyes darting left, right, up, at possible escape routes. _How?!_

"Smart girl. Now, hold on until I can... wait..."

She heard a subtle tone, then another.

"Ah, yeah, that's got it. We can talk properly now. For about three minutes, anyway - 'til the next heartbeat reset."

"Who are you?" the French thief demanded. "You are not security."

A laugh, above, and to her left.

"Got that right, luv. Same as you, I think. Just bad luck for me we happened to hit the same spot at the same time."

She heard a bit of a chuckle.

"Good luck for you, though."

"And why is that?"

"You'd activated the UV subsweep in the flooring. Reactivated the touch alert system, too, so the case is a problem, and also, another step and you'd have the filth all over us. What're you after?"

"Are you serious?"

"Two and a half minutes..."

"The Nuremberg Partridge Cup."

"Oh, good! I was afraid it'd be something difficult."

A woman all in black lowered herself halfway down from the ceiling, featureless in her ninja-like costume, except for a single loose tuft of ginger hair.

"I'm after - well, that doesn't matter, now, does it? Different target, similar areas. Manual shutdown on the Partridge case's touch system is easier with two - want to work together?"

"You... are also an art thief?"

"Of course."

"Assuming I believe you, why would..."

"Because we're all up in each others plans and have two minutes and counting. We've got different targets, so it seems obvious to me that we should. Best make a choice, though! Besides - it's not like I'm asking after your client, now, am I?"

Amélie nodded, realising the necessity of it. "I suppose not."

"Unless the job's for yourself, in which case, I'm actually _very_ interested in your client. Not too many women in this line of work, you know. Particularly not at this level."

"...are you, as you say, chatting me up?"

The woman in black's smirk was not visible, but could be heard in her voice. "Well, you came here to steal a bird - why can't I steal one too?"

 _Ffff_ , Lacroix thought, as she went over the building plans, again, in her head. Nothing. She hadn't forgot anything. But clearly, somehow, she had. "What did I miss?"

"Conductive UV fibre weave in the tile backing. Just installed three days ago. Latest thing, very hush-hush. I'll tell you about it later."

The ginger dropped to the bamboo walkway section of the floor. "C'mon. There's two good ways to do this and I came the other way, working opposites, which means we've each done half of each other's work already. Shall we get this done early?"

 _Madness_ , thought the French woman. _But..._ "We are, as you have noted, both here. Why not?"

The two women padded nearly silently through the four rooms of the Gilbert Collection, diverting or silencing remaining alarms and triggers as they went, extracting the Partridge from its display case, then making their way together to the emergency staff stairwells, and up.

"Hold on a mo, luv - got to grab what I came for. Back in a jiff."

"What?"

"Won't be a sec." She disappeared down what appeared to be a staff hallway, Amélie dismayed, watching furtively for any sort of guard or unexpected camera, still on edge from her near-failure earlier.

 _What could be in this section?_ Amélie wondered. _Perhaps she..._

"C'mon!" She heard, whispered, from behind, startling her, years of discipline keeping it silent. _How did...?!_

"You have your prize?"

The strange woman flashed Amélie an expensive but entirely modern cocktail shaker, then gestured upwards. "C'mon. My place. I'll make the drinks. Once I clean this out, anyway."

"...you came to steal... a cocktail shaker?"

"Absolutely. Harder lock to crack than the Partridge cabinet, too." She pointed casually up the stairs, with her thumb. "Come _on_. Let's go!"

\-----

The robbery didn't headline the morning's news on the BBC - _a bit of a shame, really; I thought we did quite well_ , Emily thought - as the two women made their way quietly into Emily's rather dumpy-looking Swindon flat.

"You live in Swindon," Amélie had said to Emily, hopping train to train west.

"Nothin' in Swindon attracts attention," Emily had replied, and Amélie had to admit she had a point.

"Don't touch anything," Emily said, in the present, touching nothing. "Ugh," she added, "I've got to dust this place. Not convincing if it don't look lived in, is it?"

"...no," Amélie agreed.

"This way, then."

Emily led her past the small kitchen and living area, past the small bath, and into the rear bedroom and into its tiny closet.

"Do not tell me," Amélie said, "that there is a secret door."

Emily grinned, and motioned beside her, inviting Amélie into the cramped space. Amélie shook her head, and squeezed herself in, as Emily closed the door behind her.

"Ratatouille, excuse yourself!" She made a _tsk_ sound. "You ate all the garbage!"

Amélie heard a small click. The back wall of the closet popped back a centimetre, and a crack opened at one end, and Emily slid the wall away, revealing a large, almost industrial washroom, all stainless steel and smooth surfaces, with lockers along one wall. The two women stepped through, Emily touched a pad, and the wall slid shut behind them.

" _Now_ you can touch things," Emily said, breathing a little sigh of relief. She walked over to one of the lockers, opened her bag, and placed the cocktail shaker she'd stolen inside. "Before you ask: this'll gently - trust me, _gently_ \- remove all biotraces and similar markers from anything I've stolen. You can use the next one over for your loot - or not use either, if you want, but I think you're smarter than that."

Amélie nodded, having seen similar devices in her short but successful career. "Number four?"

"Yep!"

The Frenchwoman placed her prize in the identical locker, and watched as Emily actuated the controls first on her own, then on Amélie's.

"Did you bring a change of clothes?" Emily asked.

"No - these are my, ah, getaway clothes. I had another change in my flyer, back in London."

"Mm. How long's that got before it gets noticed?"

"It will not. It will fly itself to a hidden destination if I am not back to it by 8am. A failsafe, in case I must change plans."

"Good job. Well. What you're wearing - washable?"

"Yes," replied the French woman, "though I would normally dispose of them. But they are washable, and reversible, in the event of pursuit."

"Two sets in one. Nice." Emily pulled the tightly-folded black ninja suit out of her pockets, and threw them into a washing machine. "Everything of mine's coloursafe. If yours are, too, toss 'em in later. Cycle time's only about 10 minutes, but it's thorough."

She hopped over to one of the two sinks and washed her hands and face, carefully. Colour contacts came out, and into a small container, where they dissolved, as did a pair of nose plugs. A layer of skin covering, under her gloves, got a similar treatment. Amélie blinked, watching the degree of change, fascinated.

"Y'can hop into the shower, if y'like - I'm gonna want one myself, in a bit. The contacts, y'can put right in here, and..."

"I..."

Amélie realised she'd let herself be whirlwinded into a _situation_ , and the last time she'd allowed that to happen, it had not gone well. She'd had a getaway set up. She'd had a transport ready, on the east end. She should be headed across the Channel, now, but was instead in a strange apartment in the southwest of England, and she had no idea what was past the next door.

"I... what _is this?!_ Who _are_ you? You broke in to the Victoria and Albert museum to steal a common _cocktail shaker..._ "

"A _very expensive_ cocktail shaker from the _executive sponsor_ suite, thank you! Nothin' common about it!"

"What is... all this?!" _A trap? Is this a...?!_ "Who _are_ you?!"

Emily giggled. "Hey, hey, relax, luv!" She grinned broadly. "It's just my apartment. I'm a pro, like you. Running into you was... well, a thing that happened. But you're gorgeous, I'm addicted to risk, and yeah, I'm on the pull now, and I was hoping to get lucky while we laid low a few days for things to cool off a bit. If I don't, I don't." She grinned broadly, holding up her hands, palms out. "And that's it."

 _No!_ The thief - and she _is_ a thief, now, she reminded herself, and that is all - _Talon is gone. Talon is gone. Talon is **gone**_. Dismembered. Partly at her hands. _**Gone.** All of it._

"I... am sorry, but... I have..." She laughed, once, quietly, forcing herself to calm. "I..." _Gone. Completely. Gone._

"...why don't we get you some food," Emily suggested, hazarding a guess. "We can clean up later."

"Thank you," Amélie said, nodding. "That may help." _It will give me a moment to think._ The colourant over her blue skin should last another day, and the contacts, an entire week, if necessary. "Your... setup... is rather overwhelming. And I do not eat before," _missions_ , "jobs." 

"Smart. I don't either, and I'm ravenous." Emily grinned, and pointed with her head through the open doorway. "C'mon. Kitchen's through here. Get some food into you, and I'll explain. At least, my end of it."

The two women walked out, past a small pantry, Emily grabbing eggs and bread and jam as she walked. The kitchen, beyond, had comfortingly large windows, overlooking what passed for Swindon's city centre, and looked comfortably... conventional. Modern, and English, but all the more conventional for it. And almost comforting, in that way. Except...

"Your toaster has an inappropriate number of controls," the French thief said, frowning, as the English thief inserted two thick slices of bread and actuated three controls to toast.

"Should do, luv," she said, happily. "It's the Queen's! You'd expect a posh toaster from the Queen."

"It's still nonsense." The French thief shrugged, still rebalancing herself, still regaining her poise, but hiding it well. "I do not care how English you are, you did not have to buy the same kind as the Queen."

"Didn't buy it. Stole it."

Amélie Lacroix started to say one thing, then thought, realised the implication, and said another thing, instead. "You stole it..."

"From the Queen!"

"...of England." Amélie felt the situation spinning right back out of normality, just as it had settled down a bit in her head.

"Buckingham Palace kitchen. Not as valuable as the Crown Jewels, but almost as hard to pinch."

 _This day simply will not become less bizarre_ , she thought, unsettled again, already. "You stole the Queen's toaster," she said aloud, dumbfounded.

"Yep!" She smiled. "Teapot's from the PM's office. Thought it was worth the extra stop."

Lacroix looked around the kitchen of the much larger apartment. "Your microwave's buttons... are in Arabic."

"Icebox, too," she said, grinning. "Microwave's from the House of Saud. Icebox used to be Moira O'Deorain's - she's Minister of Genetics in Oasis. You have any idea how hard it is to sneak a refrigerator into carry-on?"

"I would say it is utterly impossible."

"You'd be wrong!" Emily chirped, pulling out sausage from the refrigerator and beans from a cabinet, and setting them both up to cook. "It isn't _easy_ , but once it's in the system, they have to deal with it, even if they don't know how."

"...I cannot even imagine." _What kind of madwoman **is** she?!_

"Washer's in Chinese, if y'hadn't noticed."

"Let me guess - the Premier?"

"Summer house. Thought it'd be fun." She smiled. "Pretty much everything in here's been stolen from somewhere difficult. Even the doorstop."

Amélie looked over to the doorway into the living room, held open by...

"Do not tell me that is real."

Emily just grinned.

"From where?"

"United States Gold Depository, Fort Knox. Where else?"

"You broke in to Fort Knox to steal a gold bar to use... as a doorstop."

"Nobody ever thinks it's real. Why would they?"

"You broke into _Fort Knox_ to steal a _gold bar_ to use as a _doorstop_."

Emily just grinned. "Not really. I broke into Fort Knox to steal one particular Major's credentials, for hire. The gold bar was just - well. I wanted a souvenir."

"So you _do_ steal for money."

"Of course! Have to pay the bills somehow. Like I said, I'm a pro."

The toaster dinged, and Emily popped the four slices of bread across two plates and added the beans, and sausage, quickly and automatically cooked.

"But I'm in it for the art. I like the dosh, but really, for me..."

She finished the plates with the jam, adding wedges of cheese, also pulled from the refrigerator, in a surprisingly pleasing arrangement.

"...it's the _art_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS IS GOING. SERIOUSLY, NONE. I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF IT'S GOING ANYWHERE. It might just be a little series of vignettes. There might not even be a chapter two. There is no schedule.
> 
> But I have a couple of ideas about what comes next.


	2. The Bird Wives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have no idea where this is going. Just so that's out there. But it'll stay light. ^_^

The dark-haried woman took off her Raptora helmet, and shook her head, short hair immediately spiking up, as it always did.

_Flying in this is so different_ , she thought, _to flying a jet._

She looked down at the armoured helmet with its beak-like visor and grinned at herself. It may not be the same as a jet, but flying in it brought her even more of a rush, with so little between her and the wind, and the clouds - and the anti-aircraft fire, too.

Grabbing a cleaning kit and a towel, she wiped the helmet clean, dried it, and ran the towel through her own hair for good measure.

_That won't do, I need a shower!_ she thought. _But it'll wait 'til I get home._

The base showers didn't bother with hot water. Lukewarm from the ground was good enough, unless she had the option of better, and she did.

She'd just about finished flight training, at long last. Since the end of Talon had meant a second end for Overwatch - at least, for a while - she'd had to do _something_ with her life. And sure, Helix might not be the same, but having regular income again helped make up for it.

That, and the other benefits.

_I wonder if these come in orange?_

She popped the helmet into her locker, and started dismantling the rest of her armour, pulling it off piece by piece, for storage and overnight checkout before next flight.

"Oh, please - take your time," she heard from the disarmament station behind her. "It's far too nice a job to rush."

Lena spun 'round, surprised, and jinked forward, past two benches. "You're back! Already?!"

Angela grinned, and kissed her younger wife's forehead as she leapt into her arms. "Yes!"

Lena wasn't settling for that, not under any circumstances, and hopped up on her toes, to give her elder wife a proper kiss. "Fuck, I've missed you. Where's Reeha?"

"Talking with your instructor. She'll be here any moment now."

Lena pulled Angela against her, holding her tightly. " _Fuck_ , I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Lena. We both have."

The Englishwoman leaned back, smiling broadly, hands on her wife's hips. "How was the conference? How's Winston? How's _eep!_ "

"Come here, tiny wife!" Fareeha said, hauling Lena bodily up into the air as Lena shrieked, giggling, teleporting just to turn in place, not wanting out of her younger wife's arms, but definitely wanting to see her face to face.

"Reeha!"

The two women kissed, as Angela smiled at the sight.

"Your instructor had good things to say - except for your tendency to teleport your way out of trouble."

"And why shouldn't I? 'Use every tool at your disposal,' first rule of combat, you know that." She grinned.

Fareeha licked Lena's nose. "'Don't get into trouble in the first place' is the real first rule of combat, and _you_ know _that_."

"Yeh, yeh..." She sighed, and put her head down on Reeha's shoulder. "Fuck me, I've missed you so much."

"I will! But not on base."

Lena bit at Fareeha's neck, and Ree snorted, dropping Lena to the ground. "Finish getting undressed first. And shower _here_. We're taking you out to dinner before going home."

"Oh, are we? I thought we were gonna get some overdue R&R?"

" _You_ have to finish flight training, _Captain_ ," Fareeha replied. "But consider this a downpayment. Undress and shower, and be ready to go in five minutes. That's an order."

"Aye-aye, _Colonel_." Captain Oxton saluted her wife in the most sarcastic way she knew how, and hopped to.

They'd gone straight from their all-too-short honeymoon to a deployment to two separate conferences and training, so there was no way in hell she was going to be late for this.

\-----

"`She get there?`" read the purple text.

"`Oh yeah, she got there`," Emily typed in reply, in orange text, sitting at her desk in her small office.

Amélie sat out in the living room, on a couch, communicating with her buyer, confirming acquisition and arranging alternate delivery for the package.

"`Right where you said she'd be, too. _And_ about to set off an alarm.`"

"`Thanks for picking her up for me`," came the purple hacker's reply. "`It's not my story to tell, but`"

Emily interrupted, the shared cursor turning orange as she typed. "`You saying that is hilarious, you do realise, yeh?`"

The cursor blinked for a moment, before turning back to purple.

"`Yes. It is. I know. But seriously, she's been through a lot. And she was totally going to get busted sooner or later, and I knew it, even if I didn't know how or where All her infiltration training is based around range work. Close up, she has some, but not as much. But she had to deliver on this job, and... well... I had to make sure it happened.`"

"`I know, I know. What's a favour for a friend? Besides, she's _smokin'_ hot. Totally worth it.`"

"`I told you!`"

"`You told me, but you didn't _tell_ me, luv. Oh god, it's all I can do to keep my hands off her. But then I'd 'find out' about her too early, and... if she's she who I think she is...`"

"`I didn't tell you,`" insisted purple.

"`You really didn't,`" assured orange. "`But I'm pretty sure I know.`"

"`Then... in that case...`"

"`Yeh.`"

Emily shook out her hands. _C'mon, girl. Keep it in your trousers. If I'm right, she's one **very** hot property._

She looked over at the apparently-black-haired woman whose artificial skin colourant wasn't quite enough to keep a blue tinge entirely at bay in the cloudy daylight.

_This is going to be tricky enough as it is. You've laid the table, now just let her decide whether she wants to bite._

"`Still - if what you actually will tell me is true`," she started typing, in orange.

"`It is`," purple text interrupted.

"`...then hey, maybe you won't owe me one. Maybe I'll owe _you_.`"

"`Now _that_`," a glowing purple sugar skull replied, "`is what I like to hear`."

\-----

The newlyweds smiled at each other, leaning back in their chairs, relaxing as the dinner plates were cleared, the dessert course ordered but not yet at the table, the three of them sipping tea, qahwah arabiyya, and abricotine, according to their tastes.

Lena wasn't sure exactly when she'd developed her fondness for abricotine, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with joint testimony to the UN in Geneva - or, much more specifically, when she'd had to share quarters with Fareeha and Angela the whole week. Athena had apologised, calling it an 'accidental oversight,' but at least the one bed was a full king. Hana never let any of them hear the end of it, all while stridently denying being the RPF shipper whose name translated from the Korean meant SoManyBunnies.

Despite what everyone at Gibraltar assumed, they didn't start being "a thing" there - but they had become surprisingly comfortable with each other, very quickly. The actual "thing" would start not long afterwards, the three of them hunkered down in the desert, Fareeha wounded but not in any real danger, waiting for extraction after a successful but extremely difficult mission in the Sudan.

They'd a critical hidden Talon information relay and communications centre deep in the Nubian Desert, on desperately-useful information provided by the Widowmaker herself. At first, all three of them thought of that night as a one-off - the stress of battle will do that, after all - but then there was a dinner, and they found they had so much to talk about, then another dinner, and then an _after_ dinner, and...

Well.

Lena's phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket, hoping it wasn't a callback for mission. Talon may be gone, but Helix's work was never done, not with Vishkar out there, and tensions still high between omnics and humanity, and O'Deorain still on the loose, and more.

But instead, purple text reported `Package delivered`, and the teleporter smiled, before looking up to her curious wives.

"Is it...?" Fareeha asked, hopefully, as Angela looked to Lena, expectantly.

"She's home," Lena replied, relief in her voice.

"Oh good," Angela said, letting go of a little bit of tension she hadn't been fully aware she carried. "I hope this works out. She's been through so much."

"Yeh," Lena agreed, while replying, "`Brilliant. Thank you ❤`," and putting her phone away. "She really has."

"So have we," Fareeha noted, having mostly forgiven, but entirely not forgot.

"Yes," Angela said, reaching out and holding her taller wife's hand. "Too much."

"It's in the past," Fareeha insisted, squeezing Angela's hand.

"Not for all of us," Lena replied, as dessert arrived. "Particularly not for her."

"No," Fareeha agreed, after a moment. "I suppose not."

"Still, though," Angela said, "she's in... well. I'm not going to say _good_ hands..."

Fareeha chuckled. "No."

"But," Angela continued, "given everything, probably the best available."

"Give 'er more credit than that, love," Lena said, putting aside her apricot eau-de-vie before picking up a piece of the feteer meshaltet, and dipping it into the lovely black honey served on the side. "It's probably the best chance she'll get."

"For your sake," Fareeha smiled, affectionately, choosing the white honey and cream, as Angela chose, in turn, the soft cheese, "...I'll hope you're right."


End file.
